The Only Weapon I Have
By the eighth day of filming Space of You and Me, Director Jang pulled me aside and said this.
“Actor Seul-ho.”
“Yes?”
“From now on, only play bad guys. I think that's just your destiny.”
“I'm sorry, what?”
When my face contorted in bewilderment, Director Jang hastily waved his hands.
“No, no—look, how long ago was that last project? For your acting to change this dramatically in that span, it defies all logic. People don't just change overnight. So what I mean is, the role you've got right now suits you best.”
In other words: the problem was that he'd only ever played good guys, so if he stuck to villainous roles from now on, there'd never be any debate about his acting ability again.
Absurd as it was, I seized the moment.
“Then… would it be possible for me to take on a more meaningful character next time?”
“Of course! If I'd known you had this kind of talent, I never would've settled for a role this small. Sure, we've expanded your screen time, but you're still a supporting actor. Ugh, such a waste. People are going to lose their minds.”
“Well, we could always work together again. During the break after this drama wraps, I'll train hard and level up my skills, Director.”
Having deliberately couched it in humility, I steered the conversation onward as naturally as I could manage.
“Though I honestly have no idea what kind of offers will come my way once this drama ends.”
“Huh? You're worried about that? Why? I thought your parents always—”
Babbling away without thinking, Director Jang abruptly froze mid-sentence.
Choi Ran would have breezed right through it—“Your mom and dad hand you roles, don't they?”—but Director Jang was not Choi Ran.
I smiled as though I understood his hesitation perfectly.
“I can't keep being a burden on my parents forever, you know. In fact, since switching agencies, I haven't taken a single role thanks to their help.”
“Really? Ah, now that you mention it… your output has been pretty sparse this past year, hasn't it?”
Director Jang's eyes went wide, as if hearing this for the first time.
The story landed precisely because it wasn't a lie.
The real Yoo Seul-ho had clashed with his parents after leaving their control, and they in turn had refused to lift a finger to hand him work after he abandoned their agency. Everything he'd filmed during that first year away had been contracted before the split and already shot.
Which meant that without Woo Jun-seo, I would never even have had the chance to shed the Useless label in this drama.
According to the agency's report, the rumor's already circulating through the industry.
That Yoo Seul-ho's parents had finally given up on their son. Unless you were his mother or father, there wasn't a single reason on earth to cast Yoo Seul-ho—and the production teams knew it better than anyone. Would they really come knocking?
“I'm worried, of course I am. But rather than agonize over the future, I want to give everything I have to the acting in front of me right now. You've put your faith in me, Director, and I'd hate to disappoint you.”
“Oh, come on! What did I tell you? Disappoint me? I'm half-tempted to hand you an even bigger role as it is.”
“Haha. Thank you for saying so.”
I lowered my voice a touch and arranged my face into the look of a man hurt but determined not to show it—brave and stoical in the face of an uncertain future. I made sure even my eyelashes trembled for maximum pity.
“I just hope another opportunity comes along after this drama wraps. Because then… maybe someday I'll get to shoot another project with you, Director.”
“Seul-ho-ssi, don't you worry. Viewers have eyes too. When this drama airs, the reaction is going to be insane. Sure, people will curse your character out—but that's exactly what makes noise! And an actor who makes a villain role absolutely delicious? You know how many directors I know who'd kill for that!”
Jackpot.
While inwardly whooping at the words I'd been fishing for all along, I kept my expression perfectly composed.
“Oh? There are directors like that?”
“Say less—there are loads of them. Everybody wants the pretty, popular characters; nobody wants to eat buckets of hate. An actor who literally asks to be written as a hate magnet, like you? There's genuinely no one else. I'm going to spread your name around everywhere! Trust me, they'll be interested.”
And with that, Director Jang reeled off the names of one PD after another—real people he claimed he'd actually go hunt down.
I diligently filed each unfamiliar set of three syllables away in my memory while outwardly smiling with artless, wide-eyed innocence.
“Then—shameless as it sounds—I'll put my faith in you, Director Jang.”
“There you go. Don't worry about a thing. I'll introduce you to all of them. Before the drama ends, we'll get everyone together for a proper greeting.”
Somewhere along the way, Director Jang had gone and promised to connect me with other directors outright.
Whether that promise would actually be kept was anyone's guess, but for today, it was more than enough.
And so I wrapped up the conversation with Director Jang on the warmest of notes and headed back to the car.
“So what'd you and Director Jang talk about?”
Hyun Jin-gae asked casually from the driver's seat.
Without so much as a glance his way, I gave a half-hearted answer.
“Talked trash about you, hyung.”
“Oh, knock it off.”
He grumbled under his breath, but he didn't let it go. When he circled back to so what did you and Director Jang actually talk about for the third time in the middle of a completely unrelated conversation, it struck me as excessive, and I lifted my head.
“Why are you so curious about that?”
I looked dead-on into the eyes reflected in the rearview mirror.
Caught off guard by the sudden eye contact, Hyun Jin-gae's gaze darted away in a panic.
“Hey, of course I'm curious. I'm your manager. I need to know what's going on so I can handle things properly, and—uh—if there's anything you need, I can take care of it, right? That's all.”
He was oddly talkative today.
When I just stared at him in silence, the excuses came pouring out in an endless stream.
“Would you quit looking at people like that? It's creepy. Can't a manager even ask his own actor a question?”
“You've never once asked me that before, hyung. What exactly are you so curious about, the guy who abandons me on set every day to go play golf?”
“Yah, you little—do you have to put it like that? You know why I suck up to Director Shin? It's for you. If I don't keep Director Shin happy, the fallout lands on your head. You get that, don't you?”
“Nope. Not really.”
“You little punk!”
When I answered using the Choi Ran conversational technique I'd picked up recently, Hyun Jin-gae bristled and sputtered.
“I just got my ass chewed out all day today, I'm dying over here. That bastard Director Shin went off on this whole rant—what's Seul-ho been doing lately that the industry's talking about him?—and I had to sit there taking it and—”
“Ahh. So you were asking because you wanted to report to Director Shin?”
“………”
Hyun Jin-gae's mouth snapped shut.
Watching sweat bead up across his flustered face, I let out a hollow laugh.
“No need to panic. Talking business with the people at your company is only natural.”
“R-right! Exactly! It's a—work report, that's all it is. Director Shin's been taking a lot of, ahem, a lot of interest in you lately, so.”
Hyun Jin-gae fumbled his words again and again.
After that, he tossed out one inane remark after another, desperately trying to change the subject. Then he dumped me off at the hotel and scurried off in a hurry. I considered dragging him out of the car that very instant and shaking the truth out of him—what exactly are you hiding?—but I held back. I wasn't Kang Min-woo, after all.
More to the point, I had no expectation that brute force would get me what I wanted to hear.
The person Hyun Jin-gae is scared of right now isn't me. It's Director Shin.
Director Shin Seung-im of Star Actors.
I'd first heard the name through Hyun Jin-gae's chatter—the executive director he regularly chauffeured to the golf course, fetching his balls and stroking his ego—and he'd kept cropping up in Hyun Jin-gae's ramblings ever since.
His personality is pure garbage; rookie managers can't handle him.He's got a worse case of celebrity disease than the actual celebrities. At the time, I'd let it all wash over me.
Whatever. I'm getting out of this company anyway.
The plan was simple: deliver as much impact as possible in this drama, land an offer for the next project, and from there hope that another agency would come scouting me.
…Not that I was betting everything on the orthodox route.
That'd take way too long.
Sitting around waiting for the chance to switch agencies didn't sit right with me.
I'll make the chance myself.
I needed a company that wouldn't let me get jerked around by Yoo Seul-ho's parents, and that wasn't the chaotic mess my current one was.
Better yet, one with enough weight in the industry to buy out my remaining contract with Trash Actors—a contract with plenty of time still left on it—and take me in.
Agencies fitting that description were few and far between.
So I'd drawn up a shortlist and was quietly working out channels for discreet, off-the-record meetings with each company's executives.
The names Director Jang had handed me today were one such channel. It wasn't just about getting introduced to new projects—this was a natural, legitimate opening into other agencies.
I figured as long as I kept it hidden from Hyun Jin-gae, it'd be fine.
But ignoring the fact that someone was watching my every move would've been plain stupid.
I needed more on Director Shin than just he's a golf-obsessed bastard.
Trouble was, with no connections in the entertainment world yet, my options were limited.
Which left exactly one choice.
“Yes, this is Mindo Detective Agency.”
There was no other way.
“You're calling about the second report, aren't you? We apologize for the delay. We'll have it ready shortly—”
“No. That's not why I'm calling.”
“…I'm sorry? Then—?”
“I need a background check on one more person.”
I laid out my request: a concise dossier on Director Shin Seung-im of Star Actors, and above all, his fatal weakness. Then I added that since this was urgent, it should take priority over the second report on Yoo Seul-ho.
“Understood. You can deposit the fee into the account you used last time. The cost will be—”
“Let me make you a proposal instead.”
“…A proposal, you say?”
I swallowed a deep sigh.
I knew perfectly well that the clean move here was to wire the money without a flicker of hesitation, take what I needed, and walk away. But—
What am I supposed to do? I'm broke.
The balance in Yoo Seul-ho's personal account had been pitiful to begin with, and the first background check on Yoo Seul-ho had already bled me dry.
And with no idea how Director Shin might corner me next, I couldn't exactly lie flat on my back just because my wallet was empty.
Which left me precisely one weapon.
“You've been trying to figure out who I am, haven't you?”
“……”
The moment I threw business straight onto the table, silence settled over the line.
Picturing the youngest of my old crew, Hwang Tae-jun, scrambling for composure on the other end, I continued calmly.
“Someone opened the files without entering the access code—that must've raised a flag. You'll want to know whether it's a trap, if nothing else. So you've been digging into who your client really is.”
If I hadn't raised those kids for nothing, that was exactly what they'd have done.
The youngest might have missed it, but sharp old Gyeong-beom would surely have pushed to find out who was behind the request.
Which means it's only a matter of time before my identity comes out.
I'd accepted that risk the moment I first dialed the agency's number.
Of course, even if they unmasked me as Yoo Seul-ho, they'd never dream I was their actual old boss. And I had zero intention of making that insane claim anyway.
“Give me the full report on Shin Seung-im…”
If I was going to be found out regardless?
Then better to make my move while my information still commanded a price.
“…and in exchange, I'll tell you exactly who I am.”